


No Greater Tale of Woe

by rivvy



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: AU, Age Difference, Alfred's tall and hot and straight outta middle school, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Arthurs just kinda given up at this point, Gritty, Humor, M/M, Romance, Sad love, Star-crossed, Submissive Character, Teacher-Student Relationship, age gap, they're doomed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 08:27:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10918077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivvy/pseuds/rivvy
Summary: They would say when he was small and tradgety was new to him, that there was no greater doomed fate than the love that Romeo and Juliet shared. And he believed it, for how could such a grand love be doomed to secrecy?Or at least until he falls for Alfred Jones...barely 15 years old. And one other little tidbit. Arthur was 33 and Alfred's teacher. Oh dear God.There was a greater tale of woe, than of Juliet and her Romeo. And you're reading it.





	1. Of Onions and Hypothermia

**Author's Note:**

> I got inspired by my lit course when we started reading Romeo and Juliet in class, and thought, 'I'll write a sad, dirty, real tale about love and death, nothing fake, nothing unreal. Just the truth." With hetalia of course. First fic! R&R, loves.
> 
> N.B. Some of the italizations(?) didn't translate over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a mess lmao

Of madness and misery: Scene 1

It was raining.  
But then again it was always raining, wasn't it. Wash out the filth, water the good. It was all a inevitable, really. A cycle of sorts, per se. But the rain was quite a moody thing , watering plants whilst still drowning small children. How erratic.

Even if something or someone was drowning right this instant, he wouldn't care. Rain is rain. And rain just happened to be something great. The rain would stream down the window like tears, dripping and falling and dropping slowly into oblivion, a.k.a. his window garden. Why thank you so much for watering My Plants, god. Shouldn't even bother capitalising that last word, hmm. 

The rain hit the window like the tapping of fingers, a consistent rap of crisp drumming. The air was cool and thin, the type of air that made your nose flush and provide asthmatic kids with a way to pseudo-vape. Wait.  
Can asthmatics vape? Does it matter? No, you have better things to think about. Any pressing occasions this fair morning? ...Oh bollocks. First day of school.

Turning over in his pathetic and lonely full sized bed, devoid of all human life expect himself, he glanced at the clock. 8:29, the digital clock read, blinking almost as if it were making fun of him. First bell was at 8:50, and the school was 16 minutes away. He had five minutes, oh lord. 

Springing out of bed, he padded down to his closet, throwing a striped grey button up shirt and a navy blue crew neck jumper on top of it, searching frantically for his dress slacks. Pulling them on, he stuck a toothbrush in his mouth and ran across his sad little studio apartment to find his black derby shoes, slipping them on and lacing them up before grabbing his bag and his keys and wildly tossing the toothbrush to his left, hopefully landing somewhere near the kitchen. 

Without your umbrella and coat, you utter dolt. Rushing out the door and sprinting to the tube station, getting absolutely pelted with rain, he touched in his Oyster card, and hopped on the tube he almost missed. He panted and dripped like a wet dog, and a woman next to him rolled her eyes. Don't make eye contact. 

She turned her head to slip something round and beige-ish out of her bag, rolling it in her fingers before taking a big bite out of it. At first he couldn't really make it out, but then he saw it. Oh lord did he see it. It was an onion, a raw union. 

Oh god why. It was all too much for him. Reaching into his bag, he ripped his earbuds out and shoved them into his ears, hoping that listening to Depeche Mode and The Cure would somehow fix the blasphemous and odd sight before him, which made no sense, but considering he hadn't even been up for a full hour, he didn't give a crap.

After 2 songs and and a women's shaving ad, the tube stopped and the doors opened, a sight that could only be compared to the gates of heaven opening, glorious and saving, and he leaped out of them with a vigour driven solely by the Snarky Onion Woman and her onion. Quickly climbing up the stairs, he ran a block or so in the bloody pouring rain until he reached the school, throwing the doors open and climbing up yet another several flights of stairs and tracking water all over just to slide into his classroom, room 23, floor 4. The minute he stepped in the bell rang, almost as if it had been waiting for him. Dripping wet and soaked to the bone,  
he thanked the Miss Onion and sweet Jesus for getting there on time.

As he gingerly set his bag onto his desk, his students looked at him, some giggling and some just staring at him as if he had two heads.  
This wasn't going to be easy, at this stupid new school with these stupid new kids. 

He lifted his chin, and he glared death at the general public that were his students for about 5 minutes until the class fell completely silent, no words needing to be said.

The class grew quiet, a pregnant silence settling around them. He smiled primly, quite proud of what he just did, as it was his first year teaching at a secondary school, and not a university. Teenagers were much worse than university students, and much scarier. Horrible, annoying, stupid kids. 

They'd probably tar and feather his ass before he could even write his name on the board.

But not everyone settled, as a blonde boy stared at him, a smile still plastered on his face, but just for a second, faster than a blink, Arthur's smile faltered, a small frown crossing his own. And the boy noticed, oh how he noticed, and his tame smirk transformed into a wolffish grin, and it was highly disturbing to say the least.  
Breathing deeply, he straightened his back, despite still being cold and damp, to put it lightly and, opening his briefcase, he slammed the most important asset of the year onto his desk.

Open your notebooks, and take out your copies, we're reading Romeo and Juliet."

\--

In the 8 hours that he spent moping around the school, he had come to a few conclusions.

A) The kids were awful little rats, but they would mellow with the mention of their parents and toilet duty.  
B) French teacher Francis Boneffoy was a raging pedophile and most certainly stupid.  
C) The food in the canteen looked unsafe for consumption, and hugely resembled a method of cruel and unusual torture.  
D) The teachers lounge not only reeked of cigarettes and despair, but the coffee tasted like actual rat piss as well.  
E) All of the above.

It was not ideal. His pay was not ideal, his job was not ideal, his apartment was not ideal, his life was not ideal. What a beautiful example of asyndeton. When his life had turned into a mess of scotch, self-pity, and unhappiness, he didn't know. His life felt like the first ten minutes of Coraline, or eating tacos in Alaska or a sewer or something. And as he stepped in front of his apartment, he knew someone waited for him. His wife, his kids, his loved ones. Opening the door, he stepped inside, and he remembered.  
No one has ever waited for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no writing ability XD


	2. Of Little Solitude or Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur gets fed up with Alfeds's bull, and he relishes it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep in mind all of these are unbeta-d and my first works, so I hope you can still enjoy even though it's not very good. (;

Of madness and misery: Scene 2

Somewhere in the world, right at this moment, someone was working on curing cancer, saving a life, writing a book, inventing modern technology, changing the world as we know it.

Arthur Kirkland was just finishing scraping gum off his shoe, and will soon be watching trash telly and finishing off his bag of stale Tesco crisps, likely the most exiting moment of his existence.

What a beautiful life it is. Birth, school, jobs, mundane melancholy, and death. We were born to die, the Circle of Life, utter rot like that. Amen.

'You should stop saying stuff like that, it's giving you grey hairs'.  
Damn right it is. Knowing himself, he probably had a few grey hairs already. Stress, and it's many forms™. 

As painkillers are always the answer, he took an ibuprofen, his own existential crisis giving him a throbbing headache. 

Ungracefully, he plopped himself down on his bed and opened his laptop, getting ready to watch illegally downloaded movies on his computer, stale bag of knockoff crisps in hand.

And he watched a trashy new rom com because he couldn't afford the cinema right now, and settled down a tad. But after a couple hours and too many melatonin pills, he laid down, his eyes shutting and mind clearing, slowly drifting towards sleep, one last thought gracing his mind.

'I'll stop saying stuff like that when it stops being true'.

\--

The first week of school went painstakingly slow, and highly uneventful. Most of his classes were fairly intuitive, much to his surprise, yet also horrifyingly loud. It gave him a headache. A big, fat, throbbing, pounding headache.

'At this rate, they might just save the whole pharmaceutical aisle just for you'.

He sighed.

His real problem though, was first period, or his intro to literature class. The class itself, although rowdy, wasn't his problem; arrogant, loud, freshman American foreign exchange student Alfred Jones was.

Every class period since Monday he would humiliate him in some way, tossing things at him or making comments about his appearance. It had been five class periods, and so far as he knew, Mr. Jones has gotten sent out of class five times, and each time the stupid dean didn't punish him for it. 

So, of course, he had to take matters into his own hands.

\---

"Detention?!", Alfred exclaimed incredulously.

He rolled his eyes. As if he expects to do all that and go unpunished for it, not in his house he's not. Little twit's arrogance is through the roof.

The boy turned red and glared, puffing out his cheeks. "That's retarded", he stated angrily.

He had to be witty, don't let the 14/15 or whatever year old get in the last word, was the rule.

He raised his eyebrows and sighed, my how much he hated incompetence. 

Not to mention he hated detention too, sitting in a quiet, boring room hours after the end of work, but it's students like this that make detention less boring and more justice. Detention was probably worse for him than it was Alfred, but that boy needed to be knocked down a few pegs, the damn American.

"If you're talking about your behaviour during class, then yes, I suppose that was retarded. Too bad I don't make the rules around here...oh wait, yes I do." He retorted. Good one.

Alfred turned even more red, and he tightened his hold on the white shirt he was wearing, knuckles turning white. And it was utterly hilarious. 'I bet, right this moment in his head, he's wondering what he did wrong', he thought to himself, smug smile plastered on his face.

"You will be here tomorrow at exactly 5:00 P.M. or I will personally meet up with the  
Family you're residing with in addition to ISS" I stated plainly, if plainly meant haughtily. 

And he growled, a real, actual growl, before storming out of the classroom and slamming the door behind him, not missing Arthur's little wave on his way out. 

What an odd boy.


	3. Of Detention and Ephemeral Hatred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Detention, my favourite class. (It'll spice up soon I promise)

5:00 PM was usually a time in which Arthur was planning on not only enjoying but relaxing. Maybe ordering take out and grading papers, reading a book or taking a nap. To spice it up, sometimes he went to the park just to glare at rowdy kids. Spicy, indeed. So, every 5:00 PM, rather religiously, he would do one or more of those things.

But at this 5:00 PM, on this day, at that particular moment when the sun was a certain height in the sky and the shadows were shorter, he would be in his classroom baby-sitting. Baby sitting the devil incarnate, to be precise, although not like it mattered, because he brought this upon himself. Like almost a more unpleasant and personal 'glaring at rowdy kids in the park' sort of thing. 

And so, ever since the end of school, he'd been sitting in his room, book in hand, ready to glare and gripe and lecture. It's what he was paid to do right?

'I'd actually say paid is a bit of an overs--'

Rudely interrupting his thought process, he door slammed open, and in stomped Alfred Jones, annoying extraordinaire at maximum twit capacity. Speak of the devil, quite literally.

"You can sit at this first desk", he said, pointing to a beat up wooden desk in the front row that he was pretty sure had 'This class bites' carved into the wood or something. 

And Alfred huffed and puffed and groaned before angrily seating himself in the small chair. Arthur raised his eyebrows and his lips thinned into a straight line. He was smiling on the inside for sure. He picked up his book, 'The Pillars of the Earth' by Ken Follet, and resumed his place on page 792. The only sounds for quite a while were the clock ticking until the little rat had to go and ruin it.

"This is stupid! What's the point of me being here if I'm not going to do anything!"

He sighed. "Do you want to do this again?"

Alfred snorted, lifting his chin. "um...let me think, oh, how about ...um, hell no, old man. I bet you ten bucks somewhere in hell there's a place that looks just like this." He said rudely.

What an idiot. "That's exactly the point", he retorted, "if you don't want to be here again, the only solution is to behave, you brat"

More huffs ensued for a while , followed by golden, delicious silence. But then again, silence is almost always followed by noise.

"What's your favourite colour?"

What the actual hell. "I-I beg your pardon?" Arthur stuttered incredulously. Favourite colour? Incredulous, very.

Alfred cocked an eyebrow and pointed to his wrist. "I...uh...green I'd say."

He nodded with a blank stare plastered on his face. "Mines blue", he mumbled. He almost looked like he was in a daze.

"Are you alright?", were the words that fell out of his mouth, much to his dismay. At that, Alfred snapped out of it, nodding quickly.

"I was just thinkin'"

"You mean 'thinking'" 

"Whatever"

"...What were you thinking about that was so distracting? I hope you won't behave like this in class."

Alfred grimaced. "Uhh...I, um, already forgot. Yeah." He said quickly.

Arthur snorted. That was utter bollocks. He should save his energy to call him out on his eternally flowing fountain of bullshit. But, in the back of his mind, a stupid little voice told him Alfred would bring him more trouble than just that. 

\---

"Hey, Mr. Kirkland", Alfred called from the other end of the door as he was leaving. 

"Hmmm?" 

Alfred looked down. "I...uh, won't pull any of that shit on you again. Sorry."

And for some reason, Arthur felt his heart melt just a tad. Or freeze. Yep, ice queen that was him, no hearts melting here.

"Apology accepted. Have a good evening, Jones. AND WATCH YOUR LANGUAGE, YOUNG MAN"  
He yelled as his student drifted further down the empty hallway, looking as if he won some prize money or a one-way flight to heaven or a dog.

And he can feel himself slipping.


	4. Of Dillemas and Americans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur gets caught in a dilemma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word/Symbol Key:
> 
> Pants= Underwear  
> Single quotation= thoughts  
> \- ex: 'ok'

OMAM: Scene 4

And so it was, as detention every Friday at 5:00 became almost a religious experience, like church every Sunday at 9:30 or the 2:00 bus or that obscure baking show that never fails to come on every 11:00 PM, always constant. And his frosty exterior remained cold as ever, but his heart disgustingly melted just a tad every detention.  
Melting, slowly but surely, into something that would grow from a melted heart to a life-changing affair. He was sure in over his head this time.

\---

"You know, I kinda wish I was still in America", Alfred mused in the latest episode of Talkative Time, aka detention.

Arthur set his book down, knowing every sound Alfred made never failed to raise a comment out of him.

"Well if you miss it so much, you bloody Yank, then why did you choose to do student exchange? I mean, that defeats the whole purpose of coming really." Arthur says dryly.

Alfred huffed. "it's not me. My old man made me come"

"Why? You don't just ship your kid off to England...but then again, you never know with Americans." Arthur said, smiling smugly.

Alfred squirmed in his seat, scratching his neck, basically broadcasting to the world that his great biceps were still, in fact, great. What a tragedy he was only 15 and probably straight.

'Stop. Stop it right now.'

"Well my dad spent some time at school here because my gramps was in the military, and got all 'you need toughening up, and English schools are the best place for that'...but I think he meant bullying by toughening up. I dunno, he's usually to damn drunk to comprehend his own thoughts."

"Correction: it's 'Don't know' not 'dunno'. And toughening up? No disrespect, but is he kidding? You're rather tough looking indeed, with all those muscles...erm...u-uh, never mind that." Arthur coughed and looked away his pale and freckled cheeks slowly turning warm.

Alfred narrowed his eyes and smirked. "Wow teach, thanks. You're not so bad yourself."

And Arthur burned even brighter, but of course, not without a scowl. Also, it was 6:04. "You utter git, It's time for you to leave! And you will address me as Mr. Kirkland, not 'teach'", he griped as he clawed through his desk drawer to find his hopelessly lost phone and keys.

Alfred put his hands up in defeat, still smiling his haughty smile. "Aight calm down, don't get your panties in a twist. I'm leaving." He stated, and not without some exaggerated shoulder shrugs and a wink to top it off.

Arthur glared and set his phone on the table. A phone, which on the case had a little piece a paper where his own phone number was written. A little piece of paper he didn't notice got grabbed, by none other than Alfred himself. And with that, his sins would soon start piling up.

\--

Arthur turned out his light and turned on his fan as he wiggled into bed, squirming his way under his soft gray duvet. His fan buzzed and through his flat window he saw lights blink in the distance, like a homing beacon. Shadows crawled over his walls and into his bed, twisting and turning just like Arthur himself.

'You like him don't you'.

Arthur tossed and repositioned himself, hoping desperately just to fall asleep. But he was too warm. Even with the fan blowing on him and the fact he was only wearing a long tee shirt and his rather small pants, his bare legs ached and his red cheeks burned.

'He's growing on you.'

Huffing, he sprung up, flinging the duvet to his side, and laid his head in his hands. He needed to stop this.

And with that thought, a ding and a flash of light from his phone. A text surely, but what sort of messed up person texted someone at 2:37 AM.  
  
He put his thumb on the home button of the iPhone 6s he could barely afford, and unlocked it, opening his messages.

**Unknown: Hey**

Arthur squinted at the brightness, frowning.

**Me: who's this**

And he waited for a response, seeing the typing bubble pop up. Maybe they just got a wrong number, trying to text someone else.

'No'  
'You know who it is'

**Unknown: The greatest and most heroic person who ever walked the face of the earth**

**Unknown: Or Alfred**

His eyes widened to the size of saucers, phone shaking in his trembling hand. Don't respond, that's the proper thing to do.

So he set his phone on the night stand, and got under his covers once more. But his conscience, his mind, it screamed.

'Answer it'  
'Answer it'  
'Answer it'  
'Answer it'  
'Answer it'  
'Answer it'  
'Answer it'  
'Answer it'

Arthur groaned and pulled his hair, and this time, it was a whisper.

'Answer it'

He thrashed and quickly grabbed his phone, staring at the screen, scared. His hands shook and his breathing laboured, and he did it, setting his hands on the keys.

**Me: You shouldn't do this.**

**Maybe: Alfred: Maybe I should**

He inhaled through his nose sharply, and typed again.

**Me: Why**

**Maybe: Alfred: bc I like you**

Oh bollocks.

 


	5. Of Rain and New Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur goes to the park to wallow in his thoughts, but gets caught up in something more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIED TO GET IT IN DURING 4th of JULY SORRY. It kinda sucks but I tried!! <3

OMAM: Scene 5

He slammed his phone down on the nightstand. This can't be happening. It could not, should not, would not happen.

Shut up Dr. Seuss.

This had to be a dream, or a nightmare, depending on what part of his brain you were asking. His mind overflowed with different thoughts, each thought screaming at the other. An inner turmoil that raged like a stormy sea, thundering and thrashing and crashing upon him.

He pinched himself and twisted his nails, leaving reddish-pink coloured crescents on his forearm. "JESUS", he yelped.

No dream indeed.

He sprung from his bed, pulling on some ratty gym pants and the oversized Ralph Lauren sweater that was laying on the floor, grabbing his keys as he briskly walked out the door. The lights of the city flickered and the occasional car blurred down the street, but yet an awful quiet hung in the air, in his body, while his brain screamed.

'Do it'

'You want this'

'Answer'

'You're lonely and you know it'

He had to get away from his thoughts.

He purposefully walked over to the park closest to his Islington flat, and sat down on the nearest bench. A grand gust of wind breezed through his hair, messing it up more, if that were even possible. The moon hung like a dead rock in the clouded night sky, its glow barely visible, shielded and suffocated by the looming gray clouds.

His heart pounded against his ribs like a drum, fast and loud, exited and scared. His breath came out as white puffs like smoke as he huffed.

This feeling...what was this feeling.

For so long he had been alone. His last real relationship was about 6 years ago, and he had little to no sex life. He was numb, he'd run out of emotion. His heart hung heavy in his chest, tired of being disappointed, tired of neglect. He barely laughed any real laughs anymore, he almost never went out with his mates, or out in general.

When did he grow so cold?

"What should I do", he muttered to himself and he laid his hands on his face, head tilted up.

His head buzzed as he thought about what happened. Had he been leading Alfred on?

It's only been 3 months since the school year started, and this happens. He didn't even know what attracted him. Maybe it was all a sick joke that they were playing on him, a prank. Teenagers...right? Haha? Lmao? Hilarious?

At first, the brat angered him, too cocky for not only his age but his own good. Detention, he thought like the teacher he was, was the solution. He thought Alfred would sulk in silence, like a kid, while he himself enjoyed a book.

But no.

Alfred had to run his mouth, didn't he.

And they talked, _oh they talked_ , about anything and everything; films and school and parents and Mr. Boneffoy and riddles and ice lollies and if it was football or soccer. And for the brief times that Alfred managed to remain silent, short as they were, it was an understanding silence, a silence that replaced words, a silence better than words.

And he would look at Alfred.

And his heart would pound against him at a mile a minute, and he hated it.

And Alfred would look back with his ocean blue eyes, and he drowned.

Over and over he drowned. He was in too deep now. He was sinking below redemption.

\---

_drip_

Oh no.

Arthur looked up, just in time to see the sky, coughing up drops of rain that fell every which way. At first, of course, they were sparse, but they grew into a roaring storm, drumming against his hair and the wood of the bench and the concrete beneath him.

Arthur sprung from the bench and ran to a gazebo on the on the other side of the park, getting pelted with rain.

With clothes stuck to him and his hair matted to his forehead, he sat in the gazebo, waiting, but for what he didn't know.

And he waited, patiently on the outside but out of control on the inside.

And something crunched.

Arthur whipped his head around, and saw something coming out off the darkness, something tall.

Backing away, he hit the other side of the gazebo, and looked up.

"I knew I'd find you here", the voice said. The cocky, smiling, but tired voice. The American voice.

"...Alfred", he said quietly, and thoughtfully, exited and horrified.

Alfred chuckled a low, rumbling laugh. "That's my name." He turned to fully face Arthur, a shadow in the darkness, and he could feel the warmth radiating off Alfred. He smelled of rain and patchouli and sandalwood, and although he was just a boy, just a kid, his body dripped testosterone. And Arthur couldn't decide if he should reach out or back away.  
  
"Still a cheeky bastard as ever", Arthur pretended to gripe. Alfred smiled and raised an eyebrow.

'Calm down. Don't encourage him' , Arthur thought to himself. It was no use.

"How did you find me" Arthur breathed, looking down. This wasn't right. He was messing up. This would have consequences.

Alfred gave a tame smile, but his eyes were hungry, and moved closer, into Arthur's line of vision. He reached out, tucking a wet strand of hair behind Arthur's right ear.

"You'd be surprised how many people they have listed in phonebooks", Alfred said, his eyes glinting.

Arthur gazed up into his face with its bright eyes and tan skin and soft smile, and his heart jumped.  
Arthur rambled, "I-I- this is a joke right? We...we shouldn't do this, it's not right. This will end badly for both of us. I—"

Alfred breathed a laugh. "Maybe we shouldn't do this, and maybe it'll end badly for both of us...but I'm sure as hell it's right."

And as the rain pounded all around them, as they were swallowed in the darkness, Arthur's knew he'd dreamed of this moment , because he wanted it just as bad, but the only thing he wanted he couldn't have. Or at least shouldn't have.

And as his mouth hovered over Arthurs, chapped but wet from the rain, Arthur looped his arms around Alfred's neck, a silent 'yes'. A silent 'do it'. And do it he did.

Alfred's lips pressed against Arthurs, slowly, and his hand met Arthurs waist. And Arthur gingerly opened his mouth, losing any self control he had possessed, as electricity prickled his skin wherever Alfred touched.

Their breaths mingled, fast and shallow, gasping for air, as they melted into each other, a feeling that burned so intensely he couldn't comprehend his own thoughts.

Like the hormonal teenager he was, thirsty for more, Alfred pushed him up against the gazebo, and his arms encircled his waist, as small gasp escaped from Arthur.

He didn't need to comprehend his own thoughts to know this was going to have repercussions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> w0wza what a ped0!


End file.
